Hurricanes

Hurricanes

Clouds do not know where to rain

and the air smells of electric storms.

Blood, as it is logical, dissolves

into the river of concern.

Its honey removes the sediment

that falls on the island bed.

From each star hangs a probe,

a 110-volt extension,

in whose spectrum eyes see

translucent viaducts crossing water.

Everything is organism.

Here an artery, there a frond,

a mudhole its demulcent.

In an expanding

and contracting of pulses,

all is sown land.

Ignited, light-matter floats

on the water as its flora

is dragged adrift.

The only shore is night

and it's no shelter.

Eyes do not know where to cry

and the air is lightning's prism.

Where is the deity?

Blood is tragic

in its full torrent.